


The Fourth of July

by dancingontheedge



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: 1860s medicine, American Civil War, Character Study, F/M, Fourth of July, Gen, Multi-POV, Period Typical Attitudes, seven days' battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingontheedge/pseuds/dancingontheedge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten vignettes for ten characters.  Musings on Independence Day, 1862.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Byron Hale, 6:00am

Byron awoke with his head pillowed on Annie's breast. She had not given him permission to call her that, but he liked to think she'd be pleased with it. Today was shaping up to be a wonderful day.  Annie had allowed him to cuddle her in their sleep, there were enough men to treat to keep that infernal Foster out of his hair, and today was the Fourth of July.

Byron sat up and shifted upwards, moving his nose to the hollow behind Annie's ear.  Then he began to hum.  And then to sing in a quiet tenor  _"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."_  

His Annie woke slowly, with a drowsy "What time is it, Byron?"

She opened her eyes and promptly shoved him away from her, muttering something about it being too hot and tropical postings.  Byron wasn't really paying much attention to her crankiness.  Today was the Fourth of July after all!  How anyone could be upset on Independence Day baffled him.  It was sure to reinvigorate the troops.  Perhaps that damned fool McClellan would start marching  _toward_ Richmond again, in honor of the day?

 _No matter,_ thought Byron as he stood from the bed.  He had bones to cut either way.

He shrugged into his uniform, abandoned near the foot of Annie's bed, and continued to sing. He finished dealing with uniform details just as the last few words escaped his mouth.  He kissed the hand of the still groggy Anne, because even sleeping ladies enjoyed gallantry, and began to hum "Hail! Columbia" as he left the room.  Perhaps he would catch the lovely Baroness in her makeshift kitchen on this glorious day!


	2. Aurelia Johnson, 7:00am

Aurelia had awoken at 4:30 this morning.  There was endless laundry at Mansion House, and it was hard laundering too.  Cleaning bandages and washing blood and puss and waste out of the sheets.  She didn't even register what day it was until much later.

She was working in the yard doing laundry.  It was still relatively cool out -- she was hot, but it was nothing on the noonday sun downriver where she'd come from.

Aurelia rarely gave much thought to what day it was.  She paid attention to Christmas and Easter, anticipating them with joy.  She had always had mixed feelings about the Fourth of July though.  On the one hand, it was a holiday, so she usually got a bit of a break from work, if only because the overseer wanted to celebrate.  On the other hand, what use had a slave for Independence Day?  All those pretty words about freedom coming from the mouths of white folks put a bad taste in her mouth.  After all, what did any of them know about  _not_ being free?

She realized what day it was when Samuel greeted her with one of his serious smiles.

"How does it feel, Aurelia?" he asked.

"What?" she replied, not looking up from the laundry.

"Your first Independence Day as a free woman."

She looked up at him then.  He was a gentle man, she could tell from his eyes.  So few men were that she appreciated it.

"It's Independence Day?" His eyes remained steady on hers, "Sure is," he said.

She looked back down purposefully.  It wouldn't do.  She couldn't have another man in her life so soon. Even if he was gentle.  Even if he was Samuel.

"Must've lost track," she said, looking at the laundry.  But she was smiling now.

She was free.  Independence Day was more than a sour taste in her mouth, a sick feeling in her stomach, and the knowledge that she was not included.

She smiled more at her work that day than usual.


	3. Jedidiah Foster, 9:00am

Jed was incredibly grumpy.  Even as a civilian, the Fourth of July had never been his favorite holiday.  Reveling crowds were unique in the number of idiotic injuries they incurred.

Now that there was a war on, Independence Day felt like grasping at straws.  Theirs was a house divided.   _His_ was a house divided.  And he felt the sting of his beliefs keenly in his mother's silence.  He had been at home, last year.  Had announced a few days prior that he would be travelling to Alexandria to work at Mansion House.  It had been a fraught holiday, with mother refusing to celebrate and Ezra already gone-- left the day after the riot to enlist.  

Today put him in mind of that day, a year ago.  It could have scarcely been more clear that Ezra was her favorite.  She had commiserated with Eliza and loudly prayed for Ezra's safety.  But not one word directed toward him.

Jed understood, intellectually, the need for a happy release in times like these.  But Americans were killing each other in the streets and fields of the South.  Seven days of fighting around Richmond had just resulted in a loss for the Union and the war continuing on.  Richmond was the key, and McClellan had failed again.  And the boys flooded in on stretchers, filling the beds of Mansion House.  Boys like this one-- amputated at a field hospital just above the ankle and starting to fester again.

Jed ran his hands down his face, hoping it would somehow refresh him.  It was still early, but he felt haggard.

And the longing was always there.  Not like the longing for Mary's fine eyes to look on him with affection.  Not like the longing for his mother to speak to him again.  More visceral and consistent-- an ache he felt to his fingertips whenever he held a syringe.  He felt sick with it.

But his weakness wasn't important.  What was important was saving the rest of this boy's leg, and for that he would need fresh bandages.  And there was Mary with them now, praise be.

"Jed," said Mary with a nod, cutting off the crusty bandages applied on the transport ship.

"Mary," Jed replied, knowing his heart was in his eyes.

"Happy Fourth of July," she said measuredly, looking at the unconscious boy's leg.

"Happy Fourth," said Jed, some of his unhappiness leaking through his distracted tone as he looked for signs of gangrene or pyemia.  Mary eyed him sharply, then nodded.

"What today needs," she said, beginning to re-bandage, "is a celebration.  Let's honor the work we are doing to keep the union whole with a picnic this evening."

Jed smiled his first real smile of the day.  

"You may just lift my mood yet, Baroness."  His voice was teasing and on the edge of merry.  It was amazing, what Mary did for his mood.  She finished bandaging and smiled at him.

"Best get on with our days then, Jed.  I'll do what I can."


	4. Anne Hastings, 10:00am

Anne had little patience for the American holiday that was upon her. It was "Independence Day" for the Union, and Byron was annoying in his good cheer. He had awoken her this morning grinning like a maniac and singing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" with obnoxious enthusiasm. No one should ever be so cheerful, and especially not at six in the morning.

She had nearly snapped at him, but decided that making him pouty was not worth it. And his voice was halfway decent, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Anne rested her head against a shelf in the supply closet and reached for her fortification of choice. She took a swig of the cheap whiskey and returned to the wards with a bottle of chloroform.

On her way back downstairs, she bumped into Jedidiah.

"Pardon me," she said warmly, leaning toward him just a bit. His scowl did not move an inch as he grunted and slid past her, scarcely looking up.

He was so very different from Byron. So much more intense. She gave a mental shiver at the thought of that intensity turned on her. Jedidiah was not a playful man, and being in his good graces would be eminently good for her career at Mansion House. Perhaps they could bond later over their mutual disdain for the holiday. She would chloroform one of the boys up from Malvern Bridge and discuss how unbearably provincial the celebrations were. He would be enchanted by her sophistication and look at her with those eyes. And then... well... a lady never tells.

One of the nuns -- Anne could never keep them straight -- jostled her on the stairs and she realized that she had been staring into space for the last several seconds. Jedidiah was well gone. So, wrenched from her daydream, she proceeded down the stairs with her chloroform.


	5. Samuel Diggs, 12:00 Noon

Samuel looked at Mary with his eyebrows raised. This fine lady of Boston had been surprising him since the first time she called him Mr. Diggs two months ago. Now-- if it didn't just beat all-- she wanted to have a picnic. Today.

She looked at him beseechingly, "Will you help?" she said, hope in her voice.

"Sure I'll help.  What do you wanna cook?"

"We have potatoes.  And cabbage.  And, of course, salt pork and hard tack."

A rueful smile quirked Samuel's lips as he shook his head.

"A picnic is no place for salt pork and hard tack.  I'll ask around about meat.  The new steward can help."

"Thank you, Mr. Diggs," she said with a smile as she finished piling the soldiers' lunches onto a cart to be distributed through the wards.  He felt his heart glow-- Baroness and Nurse Mary Phinney von Olnhausen respected him enough to call him Mister.   He knew that was why she sometimes called him that, though she felt close enough to him to call him Samuel.  One of life's little injustices: he could never call her just Mary.

Samuel leaned against the counter in Mary's little kitchen pantry and shook his head, smiling.  She just about beat all.  Trust her to decide on the morning of that a picnic needed to be organized for the twenty some employees here.  It could be done, but it would take some doing.  At least the new steward, Mr. O'Flaherty, could be relied on.  Samuel pushed himself away from the counter and headed down the stairs to the basement domain of the steward.

His mind turned back to Nurse Mary's respect.  It was wonderful, but he couldn't help feeling a bit stifled here.  His skills were not being expanded while he acted as a handyman, cook, and fetch and carry boy.  He wanted to learn at the feet of the great surgeons in the war, to heal the sick and gain practical experience.  It chaffed, being told to carry linens by men who weren't even as well trained as he was.

But by the time this bloody mess of a war was over, there would be room in this world for a man like him.  It was looking more and more like Mr. Lincoln was going to abolish slavery after all, and then the country would be a free one in truth as well as word.

But today was a happy Independence Day, for the number of free people in this country was increasing every day.  This war would be over soon.  But for now, he had a steward to talk to about-- he looked around the basement as he walked through the doors-- well, probably fried chicken for the picnic.


	6. Bridget Brannan, 1:00pm

Getting old was no good, Bridget thought to herself as her hips started to ache.  She was standing on the porch for some patient intake-- best get to them quick.  As it was, her ankles and knees never really stopped aching.  Her hands too.  She knew eventually they'd probably wind up clawed like Granny Sinead's had been, but she had a while yet before that.

Her son was in it, had been from the start.  He took a blow in Baltimore, in the riots, on his way to defend Washington City last year.  She'd come down from Massachusetts quick as you like, cared for her boy until his arm was better.  By then they'd taken Alexandria and opened Mansion House as a hospital to deal with all those sick boys camped around Washington.  She'd followed Dr. Summers down-- he'd been the attending for her Jimmy's compound fracture.  Now Mansion House was her domain, and she managed it well despite her aching bones.

The youth on some of these boys hurt to look at-- some of them scarcely out of leading strings.  Those young years were supposed to be without the constant ache of a body wearing down, and it hurt her heart to see boys scratching  at limbs no longer there.  She avoided the amputees when she could.  But she rarely could.

Patient intake was a grueling task.  Taking down the names and regiments of the lads who came through so next of kin could be contacted and bodies sent home if it came to that.  Somebody needed to do something about the identification problem.  So many of these boys came through unconscious and left in body bags-- unidentified yet.  Their poor families with no way to know what had happened, with no body to bury in the family plot.

Now today that Phinney-- a delightful woman, if a bit of an upstart-- had decided that a celebration was in order. Three cheers for the Fourth of July and more work for everyone-- but the picnic had grown.  The new steward was making enough fried chicken for the lads healthy enough to eat it, and she had given him her mam's potato pancake recipe.  The poor man was relying on his cook-- a sweet little lad over from Kentucky who had only one potato recipe!  Ha!  All potato pancakes needed were potatoes and a bit of lard; not even anything so dear as butter!  A good Irish bachelor needed to know these things, anyway.  She'd taught her lad Jimmy before he left home in '52 to make his fortune.  Any rate, O'Flaherty knew how to make potato pancakes now.

That dear sweet Sister-- obnoxiously young-- came out to take her place coaxing all the names she could out of the conscious boys.

"Go get some lunch, Matron," she said.

"Aye, and you mind their regiments now, not their regimentals," she replied in a commanding tone. 

That girl, what a handful.  Who in their right mind decided to allow girls that young to become Bride's of Christ-- well, she'd have a talk with them if she could.  Flirting nuns were a great tragedy.

Now, to Phinney's little kitchen-- couldn't be bothering O'Flaherty while he was learning the ropes.


	7. Emma Green, 3:00pm

This war had shifted everything.  Emma often felt as though she were standing on quicksand during an earthquake.  The ground was not steady beneath her feet, and she was afraid.

But of all the days of the year, the Fourth of July was the most surreal.  This year and last, Alexandria had been occupied by Union soldiers.  The Fourth of July parades and festivities went on, but the Greens were suddenly not participating.

After twenty years of picnics, it all suddenly stopped.  As a proud Confederate, she could not participate in the independence celebrations of another nation.  As a proud Virginian, how could she not?  George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and James Madison were all from Virginia, and the Fourth celebrated their monumental revolutionary achievement.

Emma was conflicted as she walked the halls of Mansion House with a fresh bundle of bandages.  It had been odd to feel the festive buzz as she got ready this morning and know that she would not be participating.  Before the Yankees came, she and Alice had been invited to absolutely everything and had gone to most of it.  It would not have been unusual for them to attend multiple social events on a Fourth past.  

She looked around the Confederate ward and thought ruefully that she was now a different sort of Belle.  These men-- twice as many as last week with more coming up from the seven days of fighting around the capitol-- needed her in a way they hadn't needed a dance partner at a ball.

She filled a cup with water and brought it to a man with a minie ball stuck in his thigh, holding his head up with her arm and letting him drink.  His prognosis was grim, this boy from her mother's home county in North Carolina, and she cursed the war in her head with a few choice swears she had learned from eavesdropping on Frank and Jimmy and Tom.

Emma looked up when a shadow covered the boy's head.  

Mary was there, and she said, "Nurse Green."  Emma extracted herself and stood.  "It has come to my attention that you have not yet been invited to the hospital staff's picnic.  I feel I must rectify this situation immediately.  You have worked hard and deserve an invite, even if this is a Union holiday that you may not wish to celebrate.  The new steward will be overseeing the preparation of fried chicken.  There will be enough for all the boys able to eat it, in addition to our group." 

"My Confederates?" said Emma, pointedly.

"I said all the boys, didn't I?" Mary replied, raising her eyebrows.

Emma smiled with satisfaction.  "I'll be there.  What time?"

"We are starting at 5:00 and going for two hours.  Come when you're free, I know I don't just speak for myself when I say that we will be happy to see you." Mary nodded once and turned to leave.  

Emma, still smiling, sat on the bed of one of the boys she had brought the bandages for and addressed him.  "Did you hear that?  We're having a special treat tonight; fried chicken."

The boy smiled weakly at her, and said "Sounds great Miss."


	8. Alice Green, 5:00pm

Alice was studiously knitting socks in the upstairs parlor.  The window was open and the light breeze rustled the delicate curtains.  A parade had gone by earlier in the day, around 1:30.  She had heard the drums and tramping of feet, and pointedly turned away from the window, presenting her red-ribboned curls to any who might glance toward the house.

This was a perfectly ordinary summer day, she told herself.  Jimmy's signature on that piece of paper didn't change a thing for her, and there was no reason to celebrate.  Once this fool war was over, Virginia would celebrate Secession Day, she was sure of it. But that was three months ago now and had passed unmarked here in Alexandria.

Everything Alice did today was pointed.  She was not speaking with Jimmy.  She was wearing her Confederate red ribbon.  She was knitting socks-- the dullest thing to ever knit-- all day to be sent across the lines to the boys.  And she was not celebrating.

Emma came into the parlor.  She was graceful, as she always was.  If she had been wearing her hoops, it would have been a sweeping entry.  Sometimes Alice envied her; she herself couldn't seem to keep from bouncing, but Emma was always smooth.  She did not envy her now though, looking at the dark, boring, dress and the brownish smear on her forehead.

"Good evening, Alice," said Emma.  Alice's eyes were stuck on the smear on her forehead, so she didn't really register what Emma had said.

"Alice!" Emma's voice was sharp now, prompting her to ask, "Emma, what's that on your forehead? Is that blood?"

"What?!" Emma's eyes widened and she turned and rushed to the looking glass in the water closet, Alice following close behind.  Alice's hoops were so wide that they both scarcely fit inside the little room.  Emma saw her reflection, and a small "Oh," escaped her lips as she lifted a hand to the smear.

"Yes, Alice.  It's blood," she said steadily, pouring water from the ewer into the basin and getting her handkerchief wet.

Alice felt a peculiar thrill, mixed with confusion.  Emma's new world was so alien to her-- she could hardly imagine leaving a place without taking a peek in the glass, to make sure she was presentable.  Now Emma was surrounded by the dying and paid so little attention to her appearance that she had not noticed blood on her face for what was surely hours.

"I came home to let Belinda and everyone know I would not be having supper here.  Nurse Mary has arranged a picnic for the hospital staff."

Alice's reaction was immediate alarm.  "But Emma!" she said, attempting to communicate her consternation with her eyebrows.  She was clearly successful, as Emma set down the newly dirty handkerchief and said, "Alice, it's a staff appreciation picnic.  And anyway, wasn't Thomas Jefferson a Virginian?"

Emma made a motion to shoo her out of the water closet.  Alice had to concede the point as she exited the small room.  "Fine," she said in a way that conveyed reluctant agreement as she turned to head back to the parlor.

Sometimes she felt like the only Green working for the Cause.  Those Yankee cretins had killed Tom, and now the loyalty oath had been signed and Emma was going to a Union hospital picnic.  She was a Knight now though, and she hoped to make a contribution as important as Rose Greenhow's.  

Alice sat, picking up her needles and wool again.


	9. Henry Hopkins, 6:00pm

Henry smiled broadly as he discussed theology with little Sister Margaret and Nurse Mary.  It was fascinating, the minute differences and the major ones between the theology of a devout Bride of Christ, an idealistic Calvinist, and his own stolid Germanic Lutheranism.  Nurse Mary and Sister Margaret were arguing over purgatory, and it did his heart good to hear such a good-natured debate over something that no wars were currently being fought over.  It helped ease the pall of death he felt hanging over the hospital.

He entered the fray, "An all-knowing God must, by definition, know if a person has truly repented of their sins and so would have no need of purgatory."

"Thank you Chaplain," said Mary as Matron Brannan walked up to them.

"Now you too proddy's can't be ganging up on our sweet Sister here.  I'll join on her side, even things out a bit."

Henry lost his concentration right as the Matron and Sister launched their counterattack.  Emma had arrived.

She was the most beautiful thing he saw on any given day, and today was no exception.  He was no expert on feminine clothing, but her dark dress with little blue flowers complemented her well, making her pale skin shine.  Even at the end of a long day, when she ought to have been looking wan and tired, she was beautiful.

She had worked so hard today.  He had looked in on the Rebels at one point, and though she hadn't had a hair out of place there had been a smear of dried blood on her forehead, as if she had wiped her brow with a bloody hand.

It had endeared her to him still more as his respect for her grew daily.  She was a staunch defender, a tireless advocate for the Confederate boys, and a diligent worker-- all at the expense of her own personal comfort.  An ideal quality...

Henry anticipated where his thoughts were headed, and forcefully pulled himself from his reverie, ripping his eyes from Emma's smiling profile as she exchanged pleasantries with Dr. Foster, and back to the debate at hand.

Mary's eyes gleamed knowingly at him, and he felt ashamed of how obvious he was in his affection.  A blind man could see it, the way he made hopeless calf-eyes at Emma.  He had completely lost the thread of the argument-- hadn't heard a word of what the Matron and Sister had said-- and it was just as well, because Emma was coming over now and the argument over purgatory was about to be well and truly derailed.

"Nurse Mary, thank you for inviting me to the picnic," she said.

"It was no trouble, we are happy to have you here," Mary replied.  Her eyes twinkled, and Emma missed her quick glance at him, but he did not.

"Good evening, Matron, Sister Margaret, Chaplain," Emma greeted them all with nods, and a smile that nearly bowled Henry over.


	10. Mary Phinney, 9:00pm

It had been a long day, Mary thought to herself as she carefully closed her bedroom door.  She had started early enough to ensure that the boys got their breakfasts-- the new steward was still getting his feet under him-- and she hadn't stopped until just now.

Cleanup from the picnic had finished by 7:45, and then there was chaos on the ward as a boy woke screaming from a restless sleep and ripped the stitches in his hip.  Mary had rushed to his side, holding him down as she sent Mary Catherine for chloroform and Mary Margaret to get Jed from his nightcap in the library with Henry.  It had all come out all right though.  The hip was re-stitched and the boy sleeping the peaceful sleep of the drugged.

Now Mary sat on the bed-- her very own bed-- and massaged her temples, before starting to take down her hair.  The new steward seemed a lovely fellow-- nothing like that accursed brute Bullen.  She knew she shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but he really had been a horrible, odious man.  O'Flaherty  still needed to figure out the best way to get supplies, but he didn't seem the sort to steal from the boys and he'd gotten the chicken and potatoes out all right.

She began to braid her hair to keep it from snarling in her sleep.  It was wonderful, to return to her nighttime ritual which had been stymied by her forced stay in the wards.  

The picnic had gone off virtually without a hitch.  The steward had already been planning to cook chicken, so there was plenty for the staff and the men.  The staff had loitered on the lawn in the cooling evening, and smiles had cracked even the most foul-tempered of faces.

Mary tied off her braid and then looked up sharply.  There was a gentle tapping at her door.  She self-consciously patted her hair and briefly considered putting on her day bonnet to cover it.  She decided whoever was knocking could deal with her night braid and stood, making her way across her small room.  She opened the door, nervously expecting a medical emergency.

"Jed," she said with relief, taking in his smile and freedom from the ubiquitous blood-stained apron.  Some of the tension left her shoulders, and the smile that graced her lips was not even a little strained.

"Mary, I--" he cut himself off, taking a small step backwards.  Mary's hands flew back to her hair, a blush coloring her cheeks.  That was surely the cause of Jed's sudden silence.  He had never seen her with her hair down before.  

He started again.  "Mary, I just wanted to say, thank you for the picnic."  

His voice was soft this time, almost a caress, and he stepped forward again.  He took hold of her hand, squeezed it, and brought it to his chest, so that the backs of her fingers brushed his waistcoat over his heart.  And he just looked at her with all of his affection clear on his face.  Mary felt her pulse flutter and a tug as though someone was pulling her towards Jed with a string attached to her diaphragm.

Another smile replaced the longing on her face, and she used the hand Jed had a hold of to pull him closer, bringing it to her lips.  She put her other hand to his face, brushing his cheekbone with her thumb as she kissed his knuckles.  

Looking into his eyes, she said, "Thank you, Jed.  For acknowledging it."  

Then she pushed him away.  Her body was warm from the way Jed was looking at her, and she could feel that her back had relaxed beneath her stays.  If he tried to pull her to him, she would be pliant in his arms.  And that was unacceptable.  Much as they both should wish it, she needed to have a care for her reputation.  And he was married.

"Goodnight, Jed.  I am glad you enjoyed the picnic."

"Goodnight, Mary."

She could all but hear the  _my love_ that he didn't say.

She shut the door and turned, resting her back against it.   _Oh, Jed._  He was such a dear man; irascible, and competent, and beautiful.  She stood upright again and finished getting ready for bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Historical Notes:
> 
> The poem that makes up the words to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" was published in February 1862. It supplanted the words to "John Brown's Body" to become the unofficial song of the Union.
> 
> The song "Hail! Columbia" was so popular throughout the 19th century that it almost became America's national anthem
> 
> On April 19, 1861, the 6th Massachusetts Militia became the first group of troops to arrive in Washington DC. They faced cheering crowds whenever they changed trains until they got to Baltimore, where they faced a riot. The strongly pro-Union governor of Maryland was holding off the vote on secession by refusing to convene the legislature, and there was strong secessionist sentiment in Baltimore. Clara Barton started her nursing career caring for the Massachusetts boys wounded in the Baltimore riot.
> 
> Hospital ships were used to transport the wounded to off-battlefield hospitals during the Civil War.
> 
> The Seven Days' Battle (June 25-July 1, 1862) was a week of McClellen retreating from just outside Richmond. The general had been refusing to engage on his march to the city, which allowed retreating Confederate forces to regroup and strike to defend their capitol when the time was right. Estimated casualties for the battle were 19,850 for the North and 20,100 for the South. The final day of fighting (on July 1) occurred at Malvern Hill/Bridge.
> 
> Salt pork and hard tack were the rations given to soldiers on both sides of the war. They are... not delicious.
> 
> Most Civil War era doctors learned by apprenticeship. A medical degree was no guarantee of competency, as America's medical schools were at least a decade behind those in Europe. Hospitals in the antebellum period were for the destitute and desperate-- almost no-one had experience with them, as most doctors made house calls.
> 
> Lincoln's Emancipation proclamation was issued January 1, 1863. A preliminary proclamation was issued September 22, 1862. On April 16, 1862 he had freed the slaves of Washington DC-- the only compensated manumission in US history.
> 
> The first official American dog tags were issued in 1906. Before that, there was no sure way to identify a soldier who was dead or unconscious.
> 
> Alexandria was the first city to be taken by the Union on May 24, 1861.
> 
> Minie balls were the ammunition of choice for the rifles used in the Civil War. They were made of lead, and often caused lead poisoning if left alone for too long.
> 
> Virginia seceded from the Union on April 17, 1861.
> 
> Rose Greenhow was the host of a popular Washington DC political salon. Her sympathies were decidedly Confederate, and she used her position to gather information and build a spy network. Her intel alerted General Lee to Union troop numbers and movements leading up to the first battle of Bull Run, making the Confederate victory possible. She was caught and imprisoned for almost a year. At the time of this story she had recently been released and exiled across the battle lines, where the Davis' welcomed her to Richmond with open arms.
> 
> In Catholicism, purgatory is where penance is paid for minor sins, so that the soul is pure once it reaches heaven. Protestants do not believe in purgatory. Beliefs regarding the afterlife vary across denominations. Calvinists--like I've made Mary-- believe that the final destination of the soul is predestined, and no actions will change that. This is because God is omnipotent and knows all that is, was, and shall be. Lutherans, like my Hopkins, believe that genuine repentance will always earn you forgiveness. Repentance, to a Lutheran, means that you have acknowledged your wrong, feel badly about it, and do your level best to never repeat the sin.
> 
> During this time all nuns, who take a new name when they take their vows, had Mary as their first name. This naming convention continued until 1920.


End file.
